Amory did not move. She wished it might last for hours. Mr. Strong had taken a step towards the casts, but, changing his mind, had turned away again; and she was astonished to find how full of meaning dozens of his past gestures became now that she had the key to them. And she knew that the casts _were_ beautiful. Brucciani would have bought them like a shot. And she seemed to see Mr. Strong's look, piteous and frowning both at once, if she should sell them to Brucciani, and Brucciani should publish them to hang in a hundred studios.... The silence between them continued. But speak she must, and it would be better to do so before he did; and by and bye she lifted her head again. But she did not look directly at him. "It was very foolish," she murmured with beautiful directness and simplicity. Mr. Strong said nothing. "But for weeks I've been intending to move them." Mr. Strong shrugged his shoulders. It was as if he said, "Well better late than never ... but you see, _now_." "Yes," breathed Amory, softly, but aloud. The next moment Mr. Strong was himself again. He returned to his station by the asbestos log. "Well, there's Prang's article," he said in his business voice. "Am I to have it set up?" "Perhaps we'd better see what Cosimo says first," Amory replied. She did not know which was the greater delicacy in Mr. Strong--the exquisite tact of the glance he had given at the casts, or the quiet strength with which he took up the burden of editing the "Novum" again. V THREE SHIPS A white October mist lay over the Heath, and the smell of burning leaves came in at the pond-room window of Dorothy Tasker's flat. But the smell was lost on Dorothy. All her intelligence was for the moment concentrated in one faculty, the faculty of hearing. She was sure Jackie had swallowed a safety-pin, and she was anxiously listening for the click with which it might come unstuck. "Shall I send for the doctor, m'm?" said Ruth, who stood holding the doorknob in her aproned hand. She had been called away from her "brights," and there was a mournful relish of Jackie's plight on her face. "No," said Dorothy.... "Oh, I _know_ there were twelve of them, and now there are only eleven!... _Have_ you put one of these things into your mouth, Jackie?" "He put it up his nose, mumsie, like he did some boot-buttons once," said Noel cheerfully. "But he couldn't do that.... _Have_ you swallowed it, Jackie?" "Mmm," said Jackie resolutely, as who should say that that which his hand (or in this case his mouth) found to do he did with all his might. "Oh dear!" sighed Dorothy, leaning back in her chair....